To Breaking Point
by AJ Neri
Summary: Set after the season two finale. The SpencerAshleyAiden triangle gets a little more tangled.
1. Double Blow

"Aiden!"

Ashley could barely hear the tinny sound of her own voice as Aiden's body crumpled, collapsing onto her. She felt her ankle twist inward as she failed to keep him upright. Wincing, she peered over his shoulder and watched, dry-mouthed, as the other students began fleeing in every direction, some too frightened to realise that they were heading right into the line of fire.

For the first time in ten years, Ashley began to pray.

But before she could think of her last words, the sound of the gunfire had ceased and the smell of burning rubber hung in the air like a noxious fume.

"Thank you," she muttered, unsure of which deity she had actually prayed to.

"Aiden, they're gone. Are you okay?"

With a grunt, she managed to push Aiden's heavy form off herself. He rolled onto the concrete, nary a word escaping his lips. Before she could see the growing pool of blood on the ground, Ashley knew. She felt her heart drop as she watched his eyes roll back into his skull.

* * *

The gunfire was the loudest thing Spencer had ever heard. Instinct was all that kept her from gaping at the car and the shooters; it drove her to her knees, closer to the ground, and she began crawling toward a large, fuzzy shape several feet away. She knew people were screaming, but the unrelenting staccato of the gunfire was all that ricocheted through her head. Strangely enough, the gunfire was the thing that was keeping her focused. A few more steps and she would be safe behind the block.

Her knees burned as she hurried toward the block. As soon as she pulled herself around the corner, she reached into her purse and fumbled for her cell phone.

She pressed two buttons quickly and dropped the phone into her purse. Tentatively, she stuck her head around the corner, fear surging in her chest as she realised that there was too much commotion for her to recognise anyone. But she had to know if they were okay, so she kept her head low and hoped that someone would hear her voice.

"Ashley! Glen! Cl—"

Her words were lost as a hulking figure came barrelling toward her. In his desperation, the figure had barely noticed when his leg smashed into Spencer's cheekbone, sending her reeling backward with a snap.

Spencer barely had time to brace herself before she heard the thud and her vision blurred.

* * *

_He's going to be fine,_ Ashley coached herself, repeating it over and over again and allowing no other thought to enter her mind. _He's going to be_ fine.

Pacing the dull hospital corridor, she forced herself to keep moving. The moment she stopped, she knew she would break down. And what Aiden needed right now was for her to be his rock.

Reaching the end of the corridor, she was so consumed with worry that she almost fell backward when a woman rounded the corner. Glancing up, she opened her mouth to apologise, but stopped short when she found herself looking into a pair of seething blue eyes.

"_You,_" Paula said, her voice laced with unmistakable disdain. "Where is Spencer?"

"Spencer?" Ashley blurted out. Her stomach lurched. Up until this moment, she hadn't thought of Spencer for even a second. Not when the bullets were filling the air with blood, not when she was in the speeding ambulance, not when she'd watched the students of King High being wheeled into the hospital on stretchers.

Feeling her head spin, she stumbled backward and sank into a chair, ignoring Paula's hysterical demands.

_Spencer's in the hospital. In _this _hospital. How could I not know? How could I have _forgotten_ about her?_

Ashley felt like she was going to throw up.

"Mum!" Glen's voice rang out from the other end of the corridor.

"Oh my god, Glen, are you okay? Where's Spencer? And Clay?"

Through a fog, Ashley watched as Glen ran a hand over his face, his features unnaturally taut.

"They're, um … I think you should go see them."

As Paula, Arthur and Glen disappeared, Ashley heaved herself out of the chair and started forward on shaky legs. She made her way to the nurses' station and asked for Spencer's room number. Forgetting to thank the nurse, she drifted over to the elevator, keeping one hand against the wall and not trusting herself not to fall. Stepping into the empty metal cell, Ashley feared the worst.

The cheerful _ping!_ of the elevator announced her arrival on the third floor. Room 250 was just several metres away. With her heart in her throat and her legs wobbling on the unreliable heels of her shoes, she reached Spencer's room in all too short a time.

Just as her clammy hand gripped the doorknob, Ashley felt the tears burning her eyes. What if Spencer wasn't conscious? What if she was paralysed? What if she'd lost too much blood and the hospital couldn't find her type—

"Stop it," she hissed at herself.

Inhaling a lungful of air—and hoping that the oxygen would come with a bonus dose of courage—she opened the door. Crowded around the bed were Spencer's family, and lying propped up on pillows was Spencer herself.

The entire room seemed to expand. The walls were tearing apart and the furniture was flying, taking the rest of Spencer's family with them. All Ashley could see was Spencer, with a bandage around her head and a growing bruise on her right cheek. Her gorgeous dress was now replaced with a hideous hospital gown. The air rushed out of Ashley's lungs.

"Thank god you're okay!" she exclaimed, stumbling into the room, wanting more than anything else to put her arms around Spencer and make sure that she was actually all right.

But Spencer remained unmoving. Those eyes that used to be filled with warmth were now darkened with contempt. In a tone as flat as her gaze, Spencer said, "Go away."


	2. Spiral

Aiden groaned. He groaned and muttered something incomprehensible. And then he groaned again.

"I always hated being in bed with you," Ashley remarked, watching his facial features contort in his state of semi-wakefulness. "You remember Oscar? He was the oldest, fattest bulldog ever, and he had, like, fifty different breathing problems and even _he_ made less noise than you," she continued over his intermittent groaning.

Picking up Aiden's watch, Ashley counted the number of hours she'd spent by his bedside. Three whole hours. The only company she'd had so far were his parents who had now left to get lunch. She was on the verge of getting shipped off to the psychiatric ward for post-traumatic boredom.

So she moved over to the window and yanked the curtains open. Aiden jerked up, slapped his own forehead and let out the mother of all groans before sinking back down into the bed.

"I'm dying," he mumbled. "I'm dying and this is hell."

"Then I must be Satan's pretty little wench," she retorted, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"

"The good news is I can't feel anything below my waist—"

"That's new."

"—and the bad news is that my head feels like …" He raised his eyes toward the television, where a crocodile was slamming a wild boar against a rock. "Like that."

"At least you're alive."

"Doesn't feel much like it."

"If I'd known you were such a puss—"

"Good afternoon, Mr. Dennison," a deep male voice said. "Nice to see you're finally awake."

Stepping into the room, Dr. Samuels flashed a pleasant smile and started flipping through Aiden's chart. "So how's the knee feeling?"

"Not a whole lot. I guess you guys gave me the good stuff."

The smile on the doctor's face shrank ever so slightly. "You're on painkillers right now, but when the effect wears off, you might feel a little pain."

"For a couple days, right?"

"Just be prepared for some discomfort for a while, okay?"

"Looks like you won't be wearing your jockstrap for some time," Ashley piped up.

Dr. Samuels's smile faded altogether. "Do you play sports?"

"Uh, yeah. Basketball."

"I'll need a word with you and your parents when they come back."

* * *

"I get shot and now I can't even watch a Western on TV?"

Pressing the channel button on the TV repeatedly, Ashley feigned concern. "What if it has some sort of weird psychological effect on you? All that shooting can't be good for someone who was just in that situation." She jabbed her finger against the button exasperatedly, then finally settled on MTV.

"MTV? Are you sure this isn't hell?"

"Okay, okay," Ashley said, giving in and hitting the button a few more times until she got a local news station. "There—wholesome, educational stuff."

Aiden cursed under his breath, but didn't protest further.

Returning to her chair, Ashley suppressed an exhalation of relief. For all her ribbing, she was glad to see that he was able to put up a fight, no matter how lame it was.

They watched the news together in silence for several minutes before Aiden decided to speak up.

"So …" he began hesitantly. "Did you hear from Spencer?"

"Yeah, I did. She told me to get lost," Ashley replied dryly.

"Is she okay?"

Ashley felt her heart squeeze in her chest. "Physically."

"That's … good," Aiden offered clumsily.

A heavy silence hung over the room, stifling even the cheerfulness of the sun.

Every emotion Ashley could name warred within her, fighting for dominance. Concern for Spencer. Indignation at Spencer's refusal to talk to her. Relief that both Spencer and Aiden were all right. She scuffed her sneaker against the puke-green floor and glared down at her hands, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from screaming. When did things get so complicated? It was so much easier when she knew what she wanted and how to get it. Now she was just flitting around aimlessly like the needle of a broken compass, unsure where her north lay.

"Hey, they're talking about the shooting," Aiden said suddenly, pointing at the TV.

"… were arrested earlier today. The police have not made any comments thus far, but it appears that all the shooters have been rounded up," the anchorman said, rattling off the words in a monotonous tone. Then he cocked an eyebrow and leaned forward as if he was about to impart some great knowledge. "A few months ago, rock star Raife Davies was killed in a car accident. Now it seems as if tragedy is dogging the Davies family. The rock royalty's two daughters—Ashley and Kyla—were caught in yesterday's shooting at King High School. So far, there have been no reports about either one being checked into any hospital, but a popular entertainment website has unearthed some interesting news about Kyla, who may _not_ be a Davies after all."

Ashley rolled her eyes. "Now what?"

* * *

Gritting his teeth, Aiden flinched even before he flexed his knee, knowing well enough that the attempted movement would only send a paralysing jolt of pain throughout his leg. Still, he tried. And his teeth nearly broke from the jolt.

"Honey, you've got to stop doing that," his mother chastised, laying her hand on his.

Acquiescing, he exhaled heavily and let his body go limp. The numbing effect of the painkillers was dissolving, and he didn't like what he was starting to feel.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dennison?" Dr. Samuels walked into the room, his clean-cut appearance and affable smile doing nothing to allay the dread building in Aiden's chest.

"I know we already said this, but thank you for saving our son's life," Mrs. Dennison said.

Dr. Samuels cleared his throat, making a small sound of acknowledgement. "The shot wasn't life-threatening … but there is something I need to talk to you about."

Swallowing, Aiden watched his parents' brows furrow. He felt his mother's cool, light hand gripping his, and his father's broad one resting on his shoulder.

"Aiden," Dr. Samuels began, "the bullet hit your patella—your kneecap—and fractured it. But we were able to extract the bullet and there appears to be no nerve damage."

"So, that's good news, right?" Aiden asked, hating how small and thin his voice sounded. "I can walk?"

"Yes. You'll be on your feet in six to eight weeks, but for now you'll have to be in a knee brace."

"And that's the bad news?" He laughed nervously, averting his eyes from the intensity of the doctor's gaze.

"Not exactly. This kind of injury isn't really something you can shrug off. Although you'll be able to get around just fine, the injury is extensive enough that you won't be able to play basketball."

The room began to tilt. Dropping his head back against the pillow, Aiden clamped his eyes shut, dreading, fearing what the doctor was about to say next. He pressed his lips together too, hoping that if he said nothing, no one else would make a sound and reify what he could already hear pounding in his ears.

But his father couldn't hear his silent plea. "For how long?"

The doctor's tone was contrite. Sympathetic. "I'm afraid he won't be able to play such a vigorous sport for—"

"Are you saying he can't play basketball for the rest of his life?"

The silence that followed was deafening.

* * *

Cartoons. Soap opera. Music videos. News. Sports. Soap opera.

Spencer threw the remote control down on the couch and stared at the screen, listening to the rapid-fire Spanish burst from the speakers.

"Sweetie, do you feel like having a sandwich? I made tuna."

"No thanks, Mum."

It was only Spencer's second day home and already she wanted to gouge her eyes out with a fork. Paula was waiting on her hand and foot, bringing snacks and keeping up a stream of meaningless chit-chat and asking her how her head was every ten minutes.

"If you must know, _Mum_, it feels the same as it did ten minutes ago," she mumbled to herself.

"What was that, Spence?"

"Nothing."

Paula walked into the living room and sat down, smiling. Spencer could practically hear the speech bubbling up inside her mother's body.

"So, how's your—"

"It's fine."

"Okay." The smile tightened.

A faint pang of guilt shot through Spencer, and she mentally kicked herself in the butt even as she asked, "What's up?"

"Actually, there's something I wanted to ask you."

_Here it comes, _Spencer thought, motioning for Paula to continue.

Clasping her hands around her knee, Paula leaned forward, two fine lines bridging the gap between her eyebrows. "Spence, do you feel safe?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you feel safe at school?"

"Um—"

"You've had _two_ concussions this year—both from incidents at school—and I can't help but feel like King's not the best place for you."

"So what are you saying? You want to transfer me to another school?"

Paula's gaze made a quick circle around the room, then landed back on Spencer. "I'm saying it's a consideration we should take seriously."

And there it was. An escape route. A clean slate. No more of Ashley's badly hidden affection for Aiden. No more Ashley and Aiden.

Spencer felt fresh tears pricking the corners of her eyes. _No more crying over Ashley._

_No more Ashley._


	3. Here's to Maybe

Bending forward, Tori Christensen clutched the end of her shoe and clenched her muscles tighter, pressing her forehead to her knee. Her body felt light and coordinated, no longer sore after the hell that was last weekend. Standing up, she inhaled the crisp morning air and blew it out. There was nothing better than a morning run. It shook off the cobwebs and got her focused. Not that one needed a whole lot of mental prowess to hang out at the beach, she noted.

"Where are you going?"

Tori pivoted, shielding her eyes against the sun. "Out for a run. And I won't be back until late."

"Please remember to check in with Erica, okay? You don't want to be late like last week."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tori responded, already jogging down the driveway.

Turning left down the street, Tori started off slowly, humming along to the song blasting in her ears. The sun was warm against her skin and she almost laughed at the thought that it was that warmth that made her feel unusually limber today. Picking up the pace, she decided to venture into a new section, eager to see what was going on outside her own neighbourhood.

As her feet struck the road in long, smooth strides, she wiped away the perspiration on her forehead with the back of her hand. The simple motion was jarred by the inch-long scar above her right eyebrow. She ran a fingertip over it, lips curling in distaste as she recalled the shard of glass dead-ending a mere two centimetres away from her eye. It hadn't even been her fault. But that was the problem with parties. Too many people, too much anonymity, too many chances to screw with someone else and escape right back into the anonymous folds of the crowd.

Deep in her reverie, Tori was bemused when she looked up and saw some guy waving at her with a huge grin on his face. Stopping, she pulled her earphones out and waited as he jogged up to her.

"Hey, I know you," he said. "You're from Carver, right?"

"Yeah, and you're …"

"Glen Carlin, from the now infamous King."

"Let me guess. Basketball team?"

"That was some time ago," he replied, making a face.

"Couldn't handle us kicking your butts three tournaments in a row, huh?"

"The only reason you guys won was because—"

"What? You guys were hungover? Sick? Depressed? Not getting enough cheer from your cheerleaders?"

"One of those," Glen conceded, his voice low.

Tori grinned. "Don't worry, pretty boy, I'm not into anything that involves balls."

Smirking, Glen shifted his eyes toward the ground. Without following his moving gaze, Tori could practically feel his eyes roving up her body, no doubt picturing what lay behind her beat-up shorts and tank top.

"You know you're not exactly subtle, right?" she pointed out, returning his smirk.

"How 'bout you let me prove you wrong?" he shot back, barely shaken. "Up for a five-mile?"

Cocking an eyebrow, Tori locked on to his gaze, challenge glinting in her eyes. "Let's make it six."

* * *

For the first time in a long while, Spencer laughed. She was sitting at the island in the kitchen, doodling on a piece of paper, when Glen stumbled in with his arm around a girl who also couldn't hold back her laughter. His face was pinched and flushed as the girl helped him over to one of the chairs and deposited him into it, her shoulders still shaking with mirth.

"This isn't funny," Glen protested, grasping his knee.

"What happened?" Spencer asked, looking back and forth between him and the girl.

"Glen here decided to challenge me to a five-mile run, but he keeled over on the second mile," the girl answered, her eyes lighting up with amusement.

"Hey, I have an _injury _here!"

"Yeah, and it serves you right for putting so much strain on it so soon," Spencer said.

"Sister?" the girl asked, lifting her chin at Spencer.

Scrunching up her face in mock disgust, Spencer turned toward the girl. "Unfortunately."

"You have my sympathies. I'm Tori, by the way."

"Spencer. Do you go to King? I haven't seen you around before."

"I go to Carver. In case you can't remember which one that is, it's the one with the ram mascot and the one that pretty much killed your basketball team three times in a row." Tori shot a glance at Glen, who grunted and continued inspecting his knee.

Spencer laughed. "Would you like some water or something? We've also got brownies. I think you deserve some for carrying his sorry butt all the way home."

"Water would be nice, thank you."

As Spencer dropped ice cubes into a glass of water, Paula entered the kitchen with an armload of groceries.

"Mum, this is Tori. She goes to Carver. Tori, Mum," Glen said through clenched teeth.

"Hi. I've heard a lot of good things about Carver," Paula said, pulling boxes of mac-and-cheese and junk food out of the paper bags. Catching Glen's and Spencer's curious looks, she stated, "Your dad's not going to be home to cook today—and I know you guys run and hide every time I pick up a frying pan, so here's your fill of processed food."

"Sweet." Hobbling, Glen made his way to the island and snapped up a bag of Doritos.

Pushing the glass of water toward Tori, Spencer sat next to Glen and watched as Paula too settled down at the island.

"So, Tori, how do you like Carver?"

"It's okay. The teachers are nice, I guess," Tori said, shrugging.

"Is it a safe environment?" Paula continued, levelling Tori with a look that would've made most people squirm.

"Sure. Nothing major ever happens," Tori replied, unperturbed.

Sighing, Spencer tuned out of their conversation, unwilling to put any more thought into a possible transfer. Following the pattern on the countertop, she found herself staring at Tori's arm. It took a good two minutes for her to realise that she was admiring the lean, taut muscles and sun-kissed skin. As Tori shifted in her seat to face Paula, Spencer hazarded a glimpse at her face, catching a flash of green beneath long lashes. Above her right eye was a scar—a recent one from the looks of it.

Tori was a pretty girl, Spencer decided, but pretty was just that—pretty. Picking up her cell phone, Spencer stared miserably at the screen. Still no new messages. How dense did Ashley have to be to not understand that "go away" meant "try harder, stupid"?

* * *

"Of course you're good at a lot of things," Ashley said, throwing her hands up.

"Oh yeah? Name some," Aiden grumbled, glaring into the distance.

"You're … you're good at video games, like that one where—"

"Forget it," he bit out through gritted teeth.

"Hey, Ash, did you see—Oh, hi." Stepping outside, Kyla halted in her tracks when she saw them. Wringing her hands, she turned to Aiden, her expression inscrutable. "How are you?"

"Fine," he responded hesitantly, peering at her out of the corner of his eye as if she might blow up at any second.

"Hey, just because you didn't bother telling me that you're in love with my sister doesn't mean that I can't ask how you're feeling," Kyla said, plastering a huge, fake smile on her face.

Aiden opened his mouth, but just as he formed the beginnings of a word, he snapped it shut and stared down at his hands.

"Okay, speaking of the whole sister thing, I need to talk to you," Ashley cut in, gesturing for Kyla to enter the house and getting up to follow her.

"What?"

"Did you hear the news report about us—about _you?_"

"You mean the one about me not being Dad's daughter?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah, I did. Looks like we're worthy of gossip columns now. I wonder when we'll get to Page Six."

Crossing her arms, Ashley glared pointedly at Kyla. "I checked out the website. They actually did find some pretty interesting stuff."

"So? Don't tell me you believe them." Kyla laughed shortly, matching Ashley's glare with incredulity.

"Why don't _you_ take a look at what they found out?" Ashley pointed at her laptop. "Then tell me you don't feel just a tiny bit convinced."

Rolling her eyes, Kyla pulled the laptop toward her. She narrowed her eyes at the screen. "This is an e-mail to Spencer."

"Give me that," Ashley snapped, shoving Kyla with her shoulder and closing the window. Entering in the website's address, she handed over the laptop to Kyla once more and waited as Kyla read the article, watching her eyes widen and her cheeks blanch.

* * *

When Glen left to take a shower, Tori let out a short laugh. "Your brother's cute."

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, he's cute—in a pervy, will-do-anything-that-moves kind of way."

"That's more like it," Spencer responded, laughing.

"What about you? Got a boyfriend?" Tori asked, pulling the rubberband out of her hair and letting the loose, dark golden waves tumble down to her shoulders.

Spencer hesitated. "Um, no. Not right now."

"So King's not a breeding ground for boyfriend material?"

"I guess you could say that," Spencer replied, desperately racking her brain for safer topics. "Uh, do you play a lot of sports?"

"Nah. I can't do the whole contact sports, team player thing. I prefer roller-blading and surfing. I practically live at the beach."

"That must be nice."

"Don't get me wrong; I do care about school. I just hate how … routine the whole thing is. You show up at the same time every day and see the same people and do the same things. At least when I'm out surfing, the waves are never the same. You never know what to expect." Smiling, Tori rested her elbows on the countertop and leaned forward.

Now that she was staring at Tori full in the face, Spencer felt her stomach flip-flop. With the sun filtering in through the windows, Tori's green eyes were incandescent, a swirl of mesmerising patterns doing nothing to help keep Spencer's mind on the topic at hand. Clearing her throat, she brushed imaginary crumbs off the island.

Tori's lips quirked as if she was repressing a grin, but much to Spencer's relief, she either decided to ignore Spencer's discomfort or simply hadn't noticed it at all.

"Well, the brownies were great," Tori said, glancing at the clock on the wall. Her eyebrows jumped when she saw the time. "Hey, is that clock correct?"

"Yeah. Is something wrong?"

"Um, I have to go. I've got a … something important to do and I'm already late," Tori said, the words coming out in a rush. She leapt off her stool and began backpedalling toward the front door. "It was great meeting you. Can you give that paper with my number on it to Glen?"

"Um, sure," Spencer responded, confused at the fluster registering on Tori's features.

"Bye!" With that, Tori was out of the house, long legs pumping furiously the moment the door slammed shut.

Shaking her head, Spencer picked up the piece of paper and headed upstairs, willing the unexpected whirl of butterflies in her stomach to disappear. The moment she reached the top of the stairs, Glen burst out from his room, his hair still wet from the shower.

"Hey, is Tori still downstairs?"

"Nope. She just left, said she had something important to do. But she asked me to give you her number," Spencer said, holding out the paper.

"Sweet! I didn't think she'd want to ask me out so soon."

"What makes you think she wants to ask you out?"

"Why else would she give me her number?" Plucking the piece of paper from Spencer's fingers, Glen held it up in triumph, grinning inanely. "And Glen Carlin is back in the game!"


	4. Your Own Medicine

Walking into school on Monday was a humbling experience. Although the damaged property had been restored and everything physical looked as it had before the shooting, the air was choked with a sombreness that forbade smiles and cheer. Even Ashley felt subdued by the overwhelming quiet as she waited for the bell to ring.

Fidgeting with the strap of her bag, Ashley kept her eyes trained on the parking lot, determined not to let Spencer run away again. Just as she was about to give up and corner Spencer at lunch, the Carlins drove up and Spencer crawled out of the car, her eyes darting around as if she was the new kid all over again.

Hopping off the table, Ashley clattered toward the parking lot, cringing at the sound of her heels hitting the ground. "Spencer!"

When Spencer looked up, she caught Ashley's eye and immediately her features hardened. Shifting her gaze from Ashley, she veered off in the other direction, shoulders set with purpose.

"Spencer, wait!"

As Spencer rounded a corner, the bell rang, piercing the heavy air with its disrespectful clamour. Cursing, Ashley doubled her speed and almost slipped as she took the turn around the corner. She shrieked when she fell just short of running Spencer down.

"Oh god, you scared me."

"What do you want, Ashley?" With her arms folded and her mouth turned down into a scowl, Spencer had affected a stony demeanour unlike anything Ashley had ever seen.

Gulping, Ashley felt a lump rising in her throat. Now that Spencer was here, she wished she'd taken the time to figure out what she was going to say. "I—can we talk?"

"I don't know if there's anything you can say that I want to hear," Spencer said, her voice even, though Ashley could detect a hint of emotion behind her steely expression.

"Can you just let me say what I want to say?" Ashley pleaded, struggling to keep her tone from escalating as the students around them began dispersing.

Spencer stared back at Ashley, unblinking, for a painful moment. Then she began walking. "Fine. Mrs. Lee's not coming in today, so the chem lab's empty," she said, without turning back to look at Ashley.

Trailing after Spencer, Ashley felt her pulse slamming against the inside of her head. What was she going to say? I'm sorry, Spencer? I'm sorry I'm such a bitch? Can't we just make up and make out and forget everything that happened?

Somehow, Ashley didn't think any of those options would cut it.

Peering around a bank of lockers, they made sure the coast was clear before slipping into the chem lab and closing the door. They made their way to the back of the room, away from the windows.

Leaning against a cupboard, Spencer folded her arms again and raised her eyebrows. "So?"

_I am _so _screwed._ "I'm sorry, Spence," Ashley said quietly, almost afraid to meet Spencer's eye.

"What are you sorry for?"

"I …"

"You don't have to be sorry that you like Aiden," Spencer said, her words laced with a venom Ashley didn't know she possessed.

Running her fingers through her hair, Ashley tugged at the ends, frustrated. "I was … He caught me off guard, okay? It was a weak moment."

"That's not the point!" Spencer spat, throwing up her hands. "You _know_ who you like, and you should be able to answer straight away without having to _think_ about it."

Feeling the blood drain from her face, Ashley braced herself against a table and swallowed, hard.

"If you can't even decide now, then …" Spencer's words trailed off, and she sagged against the cupboard, looking drained.

"I know I messed up, okay? I know I'm _still_ a mess," Ashley put in, her voice quavering.

"That's not an excuse."

"No, it's not," Ashley admitted, the growing sense of helplessness coiling tight around her chest until she felt like all she could eke out were a bunch of platitudes—desperate, empty pleas to bide time.

"It's not about how messed up you are, or how much Aiden likes you, or how much _I_ like you," Spencer said, her voice cracking toward the end. "It's about who _you_ want—me or Aiden."

"It's not that simple," Ashley protested, hating the way her voice came out in a shrill pitch.

"Yes, it is. You choose. And that's it. You can't have everything."

"Why does this have to be so hard?"

"Because it's not worth anything if it isn't."

Her vision blurring, Ashley fought to keep the tears from falling as she gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles whitening with the intensity.

"Do you think it's easy for me?" Spencer continued, no longer trying to keep the hurt from showing. "Do you think it's easy for me to look into your eyes and see that I'm not the one you want?"

"I _do_ want you, Spence."

"Do you?" She shook her head and let out a small, bitter laugh. "Maybe you do. But you also want Aiden."

Braving the glimmering heat of Spencer's gaze, Ashley looked into her eyes. "I can't just cut him out of my life."

"Well, you have to do something. Because you can't have us both."

Silenced, Ashley turned her head, fixing her eyes on her shoes. She knew Spencer was right. Spencer was _always_ right. Pushing herself away from the table, she began pacing, desperately searching for a foothold, some sane thought to hold on to. But she found none and went for the one thing she knew wouldn't help, no matter how much of it she had. "Can't I have some time?"

"No."

Taken aback, Ashley halted and spun on her heel. "What?"

"No, you can't have some time," Spencer repeated. "I can't wait around for you to make pros-and-cons lists to decide who you want to be with." Then, in a smaller voice, she said, "It hurts too much. Seeing you every day and not being with you hurts too much. If you can't decide, I'm leaving."

"What do you mean?" The panic was now millimetres away from the surface, seconds away from spilling over and drowning her.

"My mum thinks it would be good for me to transfer to another school. Maybe she's right."

"No, you can't!" With those words, the dam broke, and Ashley gave up all pretence of being rational and mature. "You can't leave! I love you, Spence."

"Don't say it if you don't mean it," Spencer said, glancing away.

"Please don't give up on me—on us."

Bridging the gap between them, Ashley reached out to touch Spencer's hand, but Spencer flinched and recoiled, looking pained.

"_Please _don't go," Ashley implored, frantically searching Spencer's anguished eyes for a trace of hope.

"Give me a reason to stay."

* * *

"We need to talk."

"I can't deal with this right now."

Clenching his jaw, Aiden lifted a crutch, blocking Ashley's way.

"What's your problem?" Ashley barked.

"Can you please stop doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Saying I'm being a jerk for not being around and then avoiding me," Aiden replied. "We've all had time to cool off, okay? So now I think we should talk."

Grudgingly, Ashley sat down on a bench. Aiden followed suit, emitting a small grunt and leaning his crutches against the table.

"So, what's so important? 'Cause I hate hanging around after school for no reason."

"What about us? What about what I said to you at prom?"

Stifling a groan, Ashley shifted to face Aiden, noticing the stubble darkening his jaw. There were bags under his eyes and his shirt was wrinkled. Feeling a pang, she relaxed her features and took a deep breath.

"You know I love you, but what we had is in the past. I'm—I'm not attracted to you in that way. Not anymore."

"Then why did you hesitate that night?"

"You caught me off guard, that's all. Plus it was prom, so … I guess I felt a little nostalgic," she said, flashing a tiny smile.

"I don't think so," Aiden said tersely. "What about all that crap you gave me about not being close enough?"

"I _did_ miss you, but not in the way you're thinking. I don't know. Maybe somewhere along the way, my signals got mixed or something."

Instead of replying, Aiden hung his head, staring at the ground between his feet. Exhausted, Ashley could only allow the silence to envelop them. Moving her eyes to the parking lot, she watched an old Mercedes pull up and a tall girl step out of it. Leaning against her car, the girl tossed her keys up and down as she scanned the school compound, clearly waiting for someone.

Two minutes later, Ashley's jaw dropped when she saw Glen and Spencer stroll up to the girl. Studying them more intently, she could tell that Glen was clearly trying to hook up with her. But what Glen didn't see was the way the girl was giving Spencer an extra smile or two.

_Those aren't friendly smiles,_ Ashley thought, glowering at the girl.

"Who's that?" she asked Aiden, pointing with her index finger.

Uninterested, Aiden lifted his head for a fraction of a second before dropping it again. "No idea."

"She's totally flirting with Spencer!"

"So?" Aiden muttered irritably.

"So?" Ashley shot him an incredulous look. "So look at her! She's all legs and boobs!"

Once again, Aiden glanced up. "They're not that big," he observed dryly.

"Exactly! They're perfect," Ashley pointed out, as if she was stating the obvious.

"Why do you care?"

"Because—because Spencer is totally letting Jessica Alba over there flirt with her."

"Whatever," Aiden said through gritted teeth. He stood up, fumbling with his crutches. "We'll talk when you stop obsessing."

As Aiden limped away, Ashley felt jealousy and possessiveness lance through her body. Just as a plan to steal Spencer away from Jessica began to formulate in her mind, the three of them hopped into the Mercedes and sped off.

Fuming, Ashley stalked over to her car, her mind overflowing with indignant disbelief. Getting into the sun-warmed interior of the Cayenne, the disbelief quickly morphed into hurt. What if Spencer really was through with her? What if Spencer was interested in that girl and wanted to leave Ashley for her? Clutching the steering wheel, she remembered all the stupid things she'd pulled not only when she was with Spencer, but also when she was trying to be with her. What if she'd pushed Spencer too far? What if this was the final straw?

Closing her eyes, Ashley had to remind herself that Spencer was only human. Patience of a saint or not, everyone had a breaking point. Her heart thudded painfully against her ribcage as she wondered if she'd finally driven Spencer to _her_ breaking point.

* * *

"Honey, I'm home," Ashley said tiredly as she entered the foyer. Her voice ricocheted off the walls, coming back to her ears in a dull tone. Dropping her bag on the floor, she trudged toward the kitchen, praying that no one had touched the pint of Ben and Jerry's in the fridge. Nearing the massive, spotless kitchen which her mother had probably never set foot into, she heard a sniffle.

When she entered the kitchen, Kyla was sitting on the floor with the phone clutched in one hand.

"What's going on?"

Hearing Ashley's voice, Kyla's head snapped up, but she quickly looked away, wiping her eyes with the back of her free hand.

"I—I have to go," Kyla said into the phone, clicking it off and standing up.

"What was that about?" Ashley asked, feeling more curious than sympathetic.

"Um …" Brushing her hair out of her eyes with a shaky hand, Kyla opened and closed her mouth several times. "I, um … Remember the website?"

"_Yeah,_" Ashley said, drawing out the word and narrowing her eyes.

Eyes flitting around nervously, Kyla moved to the marble-topped island, stopping to fidget with the flowers in the centre. Her body was drawn tight, every muscle in her face screaming in anxiety.

"You were saying?" Ashley prodded impatiently.

"Please don't yell at me," Kyla said softly. "I swear I had no idea she did this."

"Who did what?"

Sucking in a lungful of air, Kyla finally dared to meet Ashley's eye. Then, in the tiniest voice ever—so quiet Ashley could've sworn it was just the air whispering—Kyla said, "My mum faked the DNA report."

Nailed to the floor, Ashley stood in the middle of her expensive, unused kitchen, not a hair twitching. Kyla had ducked her head and moved to the other side of the island, farther away from Ashley. A minute or a week passed—Ashley had no idea. All she could see was the shame in Kyla's body language. Still rooted to her spot, Ashley stared until she felt as if her eyes were going to pop. Then it came. The surge of betrayal and disbelief and raw anger funnelled upward through her system, setting every nerve ending on fire. It blew through every valve and stop and crashed out of her mouth in an untrammelled, irrevocable scream.

"_Get out of _MY _house!"_


End file.
